


the concept of mercy

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Dishonored Kink Meme Fills [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: AU, Asexual Daud (Dishonored), Corvo is doing his best, Gen, Nightmares, Royal Spymaster Daud, false confessions, give me platonic low chaos husbands plz, second chapter is soft feelings, torture and interrogation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23407294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Coldridge leaves its mark, even long after Corvo leaves it.
Relationships: Corvo Attano & Daud, Corvo Attano & Emily Kaldwin
Series: Dishonored Kink Meme Fills [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683610
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Corvo, torture and/or aftermath. Coldridge was _hell_.

They like to think him broken. And in many ways he is.

Jessamine’s death replays again and again in his mind, each time as vivid as the first. He has nightmares, many of which he awakes screaming from. The guards are merciless, mocking him and belittling him, and then when that does nothing to invoke a reaction, beating him until he quiets. His body is a veritable portrait of bruises, much the same as any other criminal here. A few are missing teeth, or limbs, or eyes. 

The guards are given free reign here, and they are merciless. He’s seen men and women dragged off into darkened corners, dragged off into private spaces, or even out into the open block of the cell, and beaten. Sometimes, if they’re too pretty, they’re assaulted as well. Like clockwork the beatings come, and the screams and the cries of those in pain, those who were only trying to  _ survive  _ come with it. 

Two days ago, Sullivan cut out his tongue. 

It was a messy process, made to quiet the screams and fits he has. Made to keep him silent. And in that regard, it worked. He can no longer talk. Eating has become an agony all it’s own, food being rare as it is, near-rotten when it does arrive, or too hard for him to chew without risking the sutures binding his tongue while it heals. If he doesn’t eat quick enough, the rats will eat his food, or sometimes the guards will simply take away whatever’s left, tossing it onto the ground to taunt him. 

There’s also the threat of hypothermia. They don’t bother keeping the prisoners warm aside from the clothes and the lone blanket they’re given. And the lower levels get damp easily. Mold sets out in corners, not to mention the rats that will come and nibble on any stray body parts left to dangle over the edge of the bed. Hell, sometimes they crawl  _ into  _ the beds, and that’s when the guards find bodies that need to be dragged out come morning. They’re not even given a proper burial; just tossed out one of the windows for the hagfish to devour. Assuming there’s anything left.

And of course, Burrows still wants his confession for a crime he didn’t commit. One of the first tricks the man tried to use against him was bribery. 

“This would go so much easier if you would simply sign your name, Corvo. We all know you killed the Empress. Why, I saw it with my own eyes!” Locked in place in the chair by cuffs, and with three guards plus Sullivan himself standing by, there wasn’t much Corvo could do apart from glower at the man. Burrows pressed a hand against his heart, false disappointment coming across his face. “Look, I know this whole Rat Plague has been hard on you. It’s been so hard on us  _ all -  _ and I’m sure if you would simply sign your name, the courts would go much easier on you. Perhaps we could see about getting you up to a higher level, a more comfortable bed, some decent clothes - and in a few years, pending any exceptionally violent behavior, you should be able to rejoin society without issue!”

_ Hah.  _ What a laugh that had been. As if anyone would let the  _ murderer of the Empress  _ walk free. Or stay free for very long. But no, even not accounting for those things, Corvo still refuses to sign his name. He didn’t kill Jessamine, and Hiram Burrows is the worst kind of snake. 

For the most part now though, the pretenses have dropped. Burrows is no longer the kindly Spymaster, the sympathetic soul willing to grant him tolerance and leniency and  _ another chance  _ if he signs his name. No, now he uses brute strength, and Sullivan and the guards’ brutality to try to break him. Corvo doubts it’ll be long before his portions of food “mysterious” wind up on someone else’s table, or just forgotten altogether. His water rations will dwindle. He’ll shrivel up in body, and evidently Burrows is hoping with that, the last of Corvo’s spirit will follow.

Coldridge was made to break men. And maybe it has broken Corvo - broken him wide, given him teeth and violence in places not normally found in most men. Because he swears if he  _ ever  _ manages to make it out of here, Burrows is going to wish Corvo killed him  _ and  _ his hired thugs that day. 

  
  


X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


Nearly six months later, Corvo has gotten his wish. Burrows is cold in the ground at last, Emily is safe, the Loyalists are locked up in the very cells he once saw, serving in a Coldridge run by Curnow and his men - a gentler Coldridge than the one Corvo saw in the insides of. Men get decent portions of food and water, decent bedding, decent clothing, decent treatment provided they act right. There’s none of the abuse, none of the suffering Corvo remembers. A few men even get integrated back into society - test cases right now, only three released. But so far they’re doing well. Dunwall is healing. 

But the nightmares haven’t gone away. His body aches with phantom pains - some days, he can’t even bring himself to eat, and all he can smell is rot, decay, death. It’s hard to climb out of bed on those days. It’s hard to look at Dunwall without shaking. Sudden loud noises or sharp movements make him jumpy, and he has to keep his back to a wall to avoid feeling surrounded. 

Emily doesn’t understand. How can she? She’s only a child, not quite eleven. She’s seen enough darkness, and as far as Corvo’s concerned, she has too much on her plate already. So he does his best to hide the signs of the shakes and the terror and the nightmares. 

Only the new Royal Spymaster knows the truth - and Daud knows how to keep secrets.

Three months ago, poisoned with Tyvian stock and left to die, if anyone had told Corvo that his biggest ally would also be the man who had killed Jessamine, Corvo would have laughed in their faces and shot them for their stupidity. But Corvo had barely been half-conscious, tired, frail in ways he never expected to be, and in some ways, ready to die.

Daud had seen that, caught on to it easy as breathing, because it was how most of his men wound up beneath him. Lost and abandoned, left to die. 

Kindness should not have been in an assassin’s repertoire. Sympathy, devotion, loyalty… none of those things matched the picture Corvo had in his head of the man who had cut Jessamine down like she was  _ nothing.  _ But Daud had taken him to Fisher, the man in charge of their infirmary, had set him up to be drained of the poison, and slowly, painfully, restored to rights. And when at last Corvo was able to walk again, Daud had led him into his office, no Whalers in sight, and told him everything.

Of all the things to come out of that conversation, forgiveness should not have been one of them. But it was. Because Corvo was still tired on some bone-deep level he couldn’t seem to shake, and he’d seen the way the Whalers were with Daud, and vice-versa. He’d heard snatches of worry in Daud’s tone when Fisher talked about Corvo’s condition when they thought him asleep, and he’d even heard the softer growl of  _ “you’d better fight, bodyguard. I’m not done with you, yet.” _

And after all that, Daud had put his fate in Corvo’s hands. Had been ready to just. Let Corvo  _ kill  _ him.

After all the men and women he’d met, all the things he’d done, such an act should have been easy. Instead, it just… didn’t seem right. If Daud had kept up his ways, oh certainly. But he hadn’t. 

And so in the end, he’d asked for Daud’s help, and told him he’d speak to Emily regarding their fate, and be in contact. Two weeks after that, Emily had called on Daud, and ordered him as her new Spymaster.

_ “For your crime of murdering an Empress, you will serve the people you once sought to topple. Do not disappoint me, Daud.” _

Daud keeps an eye on the realm, but on Corvo and Emily as well. And so he’s the only one to know about the shakes, and the nightmares, and Corvo’s inability to eat or drink anything. When he can, he keeps tight on Corvo’s heels during meetings, silently protecting his back. If he can’t be there, Thomas stands in his place, stoic and silent, reminding Corvo that he’s out, that he’s not going to turn around and wake up back behind those bars, in that terrible place of death again.

Dunwall is safe, for now at least. That’s going to have to be good enough, as far as Corvo’s concerned. 

And the rest, as Daud likes to say, is void.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud knows exactly what kind of man Corvo Attano is.

Daud knows what kind of man Corvo Attano is. 

The first word that comes to mind is  _ gentle -  _ and many of the guardsmen running around might argue the point, but they’ve never seen Attano close to two in the morning, comforting his crying daughter over a nightmare when he himself still has them. They’ve never seen him curl up in the library during his rare time off with a book, head propped up on a fist as he reads, the glow of the fire behind him. They’ve never heard him laugh, that deep, pleasant rasp that makes everyone in the nearby vicinity smile, whether they want to or not. 

Even half-asleep, terrorized by nightmares, he’s still gentle. After all, he’s yet to kill Daud despite them sharing the same bed.

“Corvo.” He tilts his chin back, offering up his throat to the blade pressed there. Above him, Corvo Attano stares at him with distant, hazy eyes. His teeth are clenched, his own throat making soft little pained utterances. He’s back there in that hellhole - back in Coldridge, and there’s nothing Daud can do to get him out. 

_ “I have to fight this battle alone,”  _ he’s said more than once, after, when Daud curled around him as best he could, and murmured a wish to help.  _ “It’s all in my head, and that’s all it’ll ever be.” _

_ “You’ll tell me if there’s more I can do.”  _ It’s never been a question between them - fifteen years is a long time to stand beside someone, to share meals and space and enemies. Daud stopped fighting their inevitable collision after the first year, and Corvo the second. Emily has grown up capable of ruling, wise, if a bit flighty at times, but doing her best. Which leaves them both plenty of time to help each other in areas they might not have gotten otherwise. 

Corvo doesn’t press the blade down, and just like every other time this happens, Daud carefully lifts a hand to touch his side, stroking a palm there, up his back, between his shoulder blades. “It’s alright Corvo. You’re home now. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

It never takes long anymore. In the beginning, it took nearly half an hour to coax Corvo back from wherever his mind was - but Corvo knows him now, even unconscious, and his body responds, shuddering beneath Daud’s touch, his hazy eyes going half-mast. The blade droops before tumbling from lax fingers, and Daud presses the advantage, reaching up with the other hand to cup Corvo’s face and stroke his thumb over the familiar ridge of a cheekbone. “Come back to me my love, you’re safe here. I’ve got you.”

Corvo sinks into him like he’s hungry for it, and Daud wraps his arms around him and hums a quiet tune - an old Serkonan ballad they’ve danced to more than a few times. After a few moments, Corvo’s shoulders twitch upward beneath his hand, and he raises his face, eyes lit with awareness. 

“Again?” he grumbles.

“Again,” Daud confirms, although there’s no venom in his words. “Can we get back up on the bed now? You’re heavy.”

Corvo lightly snorts, but obligingly pulls himself and Daud back up onto the bed, tugging at the covers that got knocked off in the wild flailing. “Did I let you get some sleep this time before I started?”

“A bit,” Daud lies. Truthfully he’d only laid down when the nightmares reared up, but Corvo always feels guilty about that, so Daud’s learned to lie. Unfortunately for him, Corvo’s also learned to pick up on those lies.

“You just laid down, didn’t you.” He sighs, runs a hand through greying hair. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

Daud flicks his shoulder with his fingers. “Don’t you start. I told you when we started this I’m prepared for whatever comes. That includes wars of the mind. I did it for my Whalers, I’ll do it for you.”

“What, no special husband privileges?” Corvo teases as he slides back down, hiding a yawn behind a fist. It only takes Daud a moment to roll towards him, draping an arm across his naked hip and laying his forehead against Corvo’s chest. 

“Only if you consider me putting up with your sorry, suicidal ass for fourteen years to be a privilege.”

“Wow, and here I was thinking we had something. You’re breaking my heart, Daud.”

“And you’re breaking my sleep cycle. We all make sacrifices, Attano.”

Despite their banter, it’s clear they’re both tired. Daud knows he has at least three early morning meetings tomorrow, and Emily and Corvo are meeting with the Duke of Serkonos to discuss the Bloodfly Epidemic, and his  _ lack  _ of response to it. 

If the numbers and reports are anything to go by, it’s because Luca Abele spends too much time fucking, drinking and dining to give a shit about his people. And if that’s truly the case, well. They’ve overthrown sovereigns before.

Corvo brushes a chaste kiss across Daud’s forehead as they drift off. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t need to say what for. Daud already knows. Spending fifteen years together with someone tends to do that. 

“Sleep.” 

This time, they do.


End file.
